


The Perfect Host

by hannibalsbattlebot



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 05:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalsbattlebot/pseuds/hannibalsbattlebot
Summary: Hannibal is very accommodating. He wants Will to have the perfect guest experience at his home, with every amenity provided.For Bottom Hannibal Day





	The Perfect Host

Will wondered if it was too soon to wear the salmon colored button-down again. 

He tried to remember. He had worn it recently. Maybe two dinners ago? It was his favorite fall-back because it was one of the few things he owned that was comfortable and looked nice on him. A welcome pop of color in his otherwise drab wardrobe. 

He decided it was not too soon and put it on as he got ready for another dinner with Hannibal Lecter.

Will’s careful grooming was part offense, part defense. When he was done donning his armor, he felt more prepared to meet whatever was waiting for him behind those impressive oak doors. He almost convinced himself this was a character he was slipping into.

Almost.

He arrived on time, a bottle of wine in his hands. As had become his custom, he walked right in without bothering to knock.

The lights inside Hannibal’s house were dimmer than usual, which was saying something. The lights in the kitchen--where Will would usually find Hannibal putting the finishing touches on dinner in his immaculate white apron--were off entirely.

“Hello?” Will called. He was sure he didn’t have the wrong date or time. He started to feel the creeping beginnings of unease as he walked into the dining room, which was lit with only guttering candles.

There was a spread waiting for him on the table.

Will felt his heart lurch. It was a tableaux to be sure. The candles were not in the center of the table but at the head of the table, at the corners farthest away from the doorway. Instead of a smooth cloth, there was a mass of fabric bunched and swathed, nearly dynamic in its arrangement with the candlelight flickering off of it. 

In the center of this fabric nest was the body of Hannibal Lecter, wearing nothing but discreetly draped fabric. 

Will rushed over to the side of the table to get a better look at the still form. Already his internal train of thought split down two tracks: one panicked, the other observing. He looked for blood, for injuries, his eyes darting madly over exposed skin.

“Talk to me,” he said to scene before him. “Show me your design.”

Hannibal’s eyes opened languidly.

“Will.”

Will recoiled from the table, a hand pressed to the front of his salmon shirt above him pounding heart.

“Fuck, Hannibal. I thought you were dead!” His relief gave way to confusion, then to clarity. This was still a tableaux, a Chesapeake Ripper tableaux. It took all his self-control not to punch the man stretched out on the tabletop. Instead he propped both hands on the edge of the table and hung his head down. “You scared the shit out of me.” He took a breath to regain his composure and pulled his head back up. He pulled out a dining room chair and sat down, crossing his legs as if there was nothing unusual about any of this. “An effective bit of theater, but to what end?”

Hannibal still hadn’t moved.

“What do you think?” Hannibal asked. “What is my design?”

Will plucked at a fold of the fabric with his fingers. The movement made the fabric start to slip, so he stopped.

“You wanted to get my attention,” Will said and then begrudgingly added. “You certainly did that.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“If you wanted to see if I would be alarmed to think harm had come to you, I think we’ve already established that.”

There was a pause that let Will know he was on the wrong track.

“Do you remember when we first were getting acquainted, I wanted you to attend my dinner parties?”

“Yes,” he said. “I wasn’t very good company then.”

“That was your perception of yourself,” Hannibal gently corrected. “I want to entertain you. I want the opportunity to be the perfect host.”

“Is this how you usually entertain?”

“No.”

Hannibal sat up on his elbow, the cream and black silky fabric still providing the thinnest veil of modesty. Will couldn’t help letting his eyes be lead down the line of his body and then back up.

“I prepared for you a feast.”

The statement was outrageous and laughable. Honestly, Will should have laughed at the whole dramatic gesture from the beginning. This had to be a joke. But the “feast” quickly wormed its way into Will’s mind, hit on some primal hunger. Suddenly, without his conscious will to do so,  he was taking it all very seriously.

“Don’t you think--” Will started, although his mouth had gone dry and he had to start again. “Don’t you think this is overly dramatic.”

“Dramatic, yes. Why not?” Hannibal asked. “We deal in dramatic gestures, you and I, as some might exchange pleasantries in passing.”

At a loss, Will said “Hannibal, what do you want me to do here?”

Hannibal’s eyes showed a mild fleeting disappointment.

“I am trying to be accommodating. What do  _ you _ want? Should I clear the table, go to the kitchen, prepare the meal and forget this happened? As my guest, I want you to be comfortable.”

Will reached out and lightly touched the fold of fabric closest to him, and lightly tugged it.

“As my host, you should know that trying to climb up on this polished table would be very uncomfortable for me.”

 

In a swirl of ivory and black silk, Hannibal lead the way to his bedroom. It too was lit by candles and there was a bucket of champagne on ice. Will would have been annoyed at his predictability, if he wasn’t sure that every room in the house was similarly set up. It wasn’t that Will was predictable, it was that Hannibal was extraordinarily, painstakingly prepared for any contingency.

Hannibal nodded towards the two champagne flutes on a tray nearby. 

“Would you pour?”

“Of course.”

Hannibal continued walking across the room. As he walked the cloth started to fall away from him like flower petals pulling away from the bud. At the other end of the room, he opened a wardrobe, which hid him from sight, just as the last fold of fabric hit the floor.

“Should I dress?” he asked.

“Its your house,” Will said, concentrating on wiggling the cork out of the bottle without shooting it across the room, where it would probably break a priceless knick knack, or maybe the...large mirror angled to reflect Hannibal’s bed. Why did he have a mirror...Will started to ask himself the question, but almost simultaneously realized the answer.

“It's your party,” Hannibal responded.

“Whatever is fine,” Will said and he really meant it. He poured two glasses of champagne and drank one right away.

Hannibal shut the wardrobe door and walked over to where Will stood. Except for stocking feet, he was fully dressed in a blue plaid suit with all the trimmings. The silky cloth he had been wrapped in was folded over his arm. With the grace of dancer, he swirled the fabric out over the bed. They both watched as it settled.

Will handed him a glass and drank his second glass down. Hannibal took a savoring sip of his.

“I’m not looking for liquid courage, I’m just thirsty,” Will said and then wished he hadn’t. 

He didn’t know why, but he was more, not less, aroused with Hannibal now fully clothed. “This is strange,” he said. “Naked in the dining room, fully clothed in the bedroom.”

“I thought that me wearing something you were accustomed seeing me in would put you at ease.”

Will sighed and put down his empty glass.

“I don’t think I’ll be at ease, at any time, ever, until we settle this: what are we to each other?”

Hannibal set down his own glass and looked at Will with interest.

Encouraged, Will went on. “You told Alana that as long as we know what we are to each other that would be enough. The only problem is, we haven’t settled that. Not really. You tried to set me at ease by laying yourself out on the dining room table for me. A feast, you said.”

“Isn’t that what we are to each other?” Hannibal asked. “We’ve already been consuming each other. I thought it might be beneficial to force the issue with a visual.”

“A tableaux,” Will said. “With you as a victim.”

“As your victim.”

Will raised a hand and gently brushed Hannibal’s cheek.

“Are you?”

“I have been and will continue to be.”

Hannibal moved towards Will just slightly, a barely perceptible statement of intention. Will understood and reciprocated, meeting Hannibal’s lips with his. After a few small teasing kisses Will grazed Hannibal’s lip with his teeth. This was what they were here for: bites and rough hands. Will put his hand up to Hannibal’s throat and with a surge of satisfaction in the act, pulled the knot out of his tie.

This was the signal Hannibal was looking for. His kisses became rough and sloppy: his lips leaving Will’s to blaze a trail across his jaw and then his neck. Will, his head back to accommodate the lips and teeth on his throat, groped blindly, unable to decide whether he wanted to start undoing his own shirt or Hannibal’s first. Hannibal tried to help him. Anything to get the clothes off fast, but their hands got in each other’s way. Will grunted with impatience as he shoved Hannibal’s hands away from his belt buckle. He could do it faster.

Will took a moment to pass his hands over the smooth fabric of Hannibal’s underpants. The only thing separating him from the cock he could already feel hot and ready. Hannibal stripped Will’s boxers from him with the same fluid movement as he did anything, by scooping his hands under the waistband, then running his hands around Will’s waist and down to his ass. 

Will kicked the rest of his pants off and half pushed and pulled Hannibal onto the bed. They sank down into it. The slippery fabric under them was incredibly soft and Will felt he was being softly cradled on three sides, with the fourth side above him being the pliant flesh of an aroused and mouthy cannibal.

Hannibal was, there was really no other word, petting Will, smoothing down his hair and touching his face, mouth following greedily after the trails his fingers had made.

Savoring.

Will’s hands drifted lower, down Hannibal’s belly, skirting his cock for now. He had to lean, his face now buried in Hannibal’s shoulder as his hand briefly cupped his balls, as if testing their heft and slid behind them. His fingers stopped only they encountered the metal disk of the butt plug seated securely in the doctor’s hole.

“Hannibal?” he asked.

Hannibal stopped raising suck marks on Will’s collarbone for a moment to respond. “I’m accommodating. A good host  _ anticipates _ .”

Hannibal, also correctly anticipating Will’s next desire, laid next to him on the bed, knees flexed.

Will took a moment to look at the plain steel disk, which was all he could see at the moment.

He grasped it. He did not need to ask. It was the mint on the pillow, the thoughtful courtesy, the bed turned down in anticipation of his comfort. In anticipation of his body sinking into it. 

At the plug’s first movement, Hannibal made a small noise tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Will eased it out slowly, both out of concern for Hannibal and for the enjoyment of prolonging it. Hannibal breathed a small “ah” when it was fully out of him.

“Stainless steel? No streamers? No semi-precious jewels?’ Will teased. 

“It was my nod to the practical simplicity that you favor.”

“Let me make sure there’s nothing else,” He slid his finger in the slick hole, drawing a pleasing grunt from the other man when he added a second finger that was easily taken.

As he lined up his cock with the waiting hole, his hand almost trembled. What he wanted and wanted now, was to slip into Hannibal Lecter’s hot darkness.

Once he slid in, the trembling stopped. All hesitation was gone. He worked himself in and out, deeper and deeper until Hannibal was taking the full length of him with each stroke. He leaned down and Hannibal rose as much as he could to meet him. Will grabbed the back of his neck and brought him close so he could taste the skin of his throat, salty and blood hot.

“My feast.” He nearly growled.

Hannibal pulled him closer as Will chased his own rhythm. Hannibal was as he had promised: absolutely inviting, as if they each had been made to fit together, just another way in which they perfectly complimented each other. Will came with his hands fisted in Hannibal’s hair.

In his passion he had held too  tightly he realized, as he opened his tension-stiffened fingers and felt the detached strands of hair between them.

Will slipped out of Hannibal only when he was too soft to stay. He sat back and looked at Hannibal. His eyes were glazed but his cock still stood up, leaking and untouched. Will reached out for it and Hannibal hissed an intake of breath when skin touched skin. Will bowed his head, blocking Hannibal’s view, and then licked a stripe on the underside of his cock, from root to tip, folding his mouth over the tip for a moment.

“Will,” Hannibal breathed. “You don’t-”

Will cut him short by taking him into his mouth, as far down as he could, covering the rest of his length with a firm grip. He didn’t think he could take all of it, but he did his best, releasing him to lick around the base, then up again to cover the tip.

“Will” he said again.

Will spread a firm hand on Hannibal’s chest, holding him down on the bed, if only symbolically.

“My. Feast.”

He claimed Hannibal’s mouth again, bringing him to orgasm with his hand and kissing him through it, even when his release meant he could only pant uselessly into Will’s mouth.

Will gathered Hannibal close.He was limp in his arms. He tucked Hannibal’s head under his chin.

“Did you anticipate that?” he asked.

“It wasn’t necessary, Will,” he said breathlessly. “Appreciated, but not necessary.”

Will smiled and nestled that smile into the head resting on his chest.

“You of all people should know the rules of being the guest of a perfect host,” Will said. “You always give a token of appreciation back to the host. I’m just being polite.”

Will kissed the top of his head.

“I like your idea of courtesy,” Hannibal said, sleepily.


End file.
